Backdrop of Blue
by Echoing Fantasy
Summary: Mukuro's existence was slavery until the Vindice found him. And then the blue took over. The blue, freezing him and making him cold. But now the red is here, to erase the blue, and make him warm again. Slight 2769.


_Backdrop of Blue_

He had only ever known slavery.

Slavery to the mafia; first to the family he was born from –flesh of their flesh, blood of their blood. He was sacrificed, a rat put in a cage for entertainment purposes, stripped of his pride, his honor, his _rights, _and made into something ugly.

That was the first time.

And then he had been a slave of those outside his family, those that would use him. They hadn't lasted long; their self-made chains were too short, too simple to hold the beast he had become. His power had blasted them away like a volcano blasts a fly, and he had moved on. There had been followers then, two, and then three, as he picked up the girl.

That was the second time.

Then he was a slave of the Vongola. That idiotic boy who beat him, _bested him, _seen the darkness in his heart that had wrapped around him; leftovers from his _beloved _family members. He had burned it, purged it, beat it with a stick and thrown it aside. Again and again the boy had done that, and then the boy with the golden eyes had given him to the Vindice.

That was the third time.

Now, he was a slave of the Vindice.

Pretentious bastards, all of them. Mukuro loathed pretentious assholes more than he loathed self-imposed arrogance, and they were a healthy dose of both. Their leader, Bermuda, had come to greet him, mocking his power and chuckling as Mukuro screamed in his mind and wished he had the strength needed to break the glass. But no, they'd given him a nice little drug and put him to sleep before sticking him in this blasted cage. Trapped in the water, his arms and legs bound, he had known nothing of freedom and solitude except within his own mind.

For the longest time, his vision had been tainted by blue.

But now there was fire, magnificent fire, crimson and powerful, breaking the glass of his tank, burning away the blue, ripping him from his chains like the doll he was. He landed in strong, sure arms as he choked up water, the mouthpiece having been pulled off almost instantly. He threw up, again and again, as the fire continued to burn, erasing the blue and replacing it with magnificent red.

Red. Red _everywhere. _

Mukuro finally stopped throwing up the water in his lungs and let his head fall back onto an equally strong shoulder. His breathing was slow, even despite the fact that he was shivering, still wet and now cold in the Vindice's frozen world.

A voice, the voice of the Vindice leader, demanded what right the boy had to pull Rokudo Mukuro out.

Arms wove themselves around Mukuro, and Mukuro clung closer to the red body, feeling warmth, _life _beneath the skin, and wishing once so he could crawl under the skin, not to take over, but to get warm. The boy was so warm, and he was so cold.

_The blue has taken me over, _Mukuro wanted to say, _I have too much blue in me. Get rid of it; purge it with the red, and make it warmer._

But he didn't say that. He just shivered, and clung closer to the red man as negotiations went on over his head. Eventually, on the verge of sleep, he was gathered up like a child and wrapped up in a jacket. He buried his nose in the collarbone of the other, inhaling wild pepper, lemon and cinnamon. The man held him close, not minding his shivering or his clinginess as they walked outside, where six others stood, waiting for them.

"Get me some more blankets." The red says. Mukuro doesn't feel anger in his voice, but the hands on him offer up a sweet sort of protection that he doesn't mind feeling. It's like being under the eye of a hawk, and for the first time in a long time he feels completely protected.

"Yes boss."

_Cold_, Mukuro mouths into the collarbone, a fierce shiver racking his body. The hands tighten until the shivering dies down. One of them reaches up to gently comb through his still-wet hair, the red erasing some of the blue there too.

"We'll be home soon, Mukuro. Just please hold on a little bit longer." The voice says, all-knowing and powerful. There is a sound of a chopper in the distance, getting closer with every moment. Eventually its so close that its throwing up snow everywhere, and Mukuro tucks his face into the chest before him and clings for all he's worth. He feels like a newborn, utterly feeble and helpless. He doesn't even want to open his eyes, he's so tired.

They climb in, the man holding him keeping a tight grip as he does so, while another orders, "Kusakabe, get us back to the mansion."

"Yes sir."

And then the ground is gone, and they're flying. Mukuro has experienced flying many times, but never from a chopper. It makes his toes curl.

Eventually however, they get where they need to be and land, and Mukuro is carried inside, where the cold fades even faster, because the mansion is so very _warm. _But still, the blue inside him continues to freeze him over, continues to keep him shivering, even when the noises of protests upon seeing Mukuro in the man's arms are silenced, and him and the man are in a private room. Mukuro is stripped from his wet clothes and tucked beneath thick blankets. He continues to shiver, even as the Flame-filled gauntlet runs itself through his hair, steam filling the air as the water evaporates.

When the hand tries to leave, Mukuro reaches out for it, and for the first time opens his eyes, just a little bit, grasping the large wrist with a bony hand.

Tsunayoshi has grown up in ways Mukuro never imagined; eyes that hold that same patience Mukuro found so infuriating before, but is now soothing watch him, wait for a question, or a plea. His brown hair is cropped closer to his head than it was before, and the body has grown muscle that is pleasant, yet not overly-there. Mukuro sees what Tsunayoshi has become, what he is, and knows that there is only one way for the blue to fade.

He tries to tell himself that the method isn't what scares him.

He presses the hand over his heart, the spot where the blue has taken over and it's the coldest, and looks up at Tsunayoshi, who is watching him with the all-knowing, understanding gaze he once hated. "Please."

One word, and yet Tsunayoshi understands it for what it is. He nods and leans forward, placing his forehead - now without the flame - against Mukuro's and closing his eyes while his hand flattens itself against his heart and his Will begins to reach inside.

Mukuro bites his lower lip at the feeling. If he were a different sort of person, he might compare this act to losing his virginity. He's never had someone else's Will, that powerful force that drives a human being, filled with their resolve, their code of honor and unique individual self, inside him, brushing against the wounds of his mind, soul and heart. Tsunayoshi is careful and his touch is delicate, the mere kiss from a butterfly's wing. But it still scares Mukuro.

And Tsunayoshi knows it. He hums something, and the fire sharpens into something else, something that feels like entrapment, but it's far too sweet. Mukuro whimpers as it touches the ice again, thawing it away almost instantly. But the Will doesn't stop there. It curls around, him, protective and possessive and stays there as the rest of the blue fades.

When they come out of whatever trance they've been in, Mukuro finds his head thrown back and his hands clutching onto Tsunayoshi's shoulders, his entire body trembling. Tsuna opens his eyes and pulls back slowly, carefully taking his Will away. Yet even as he pulls back, Mukuro can still feel part of him inside, surrounding his heart, guarding it from anyone that might try to hurt him.

"Are you alright?" Tsuna asks, the Flame on his hands gone. Mukuro realizes he's in Tsuna's personal room, in his bed – a fact that somehow makes what he just did seem that much more terrifying. Mukuro slinks a bit further beneath the covers, and tries to calm his heart.

"I'm fine, Tsunayoshi. You should go check to make sure your other puppies are still alive." He tries for a sneer, only for it to come out as a smile. Tsuna seems to be able to read between the lines now, because he nods and runs a gentle hand through Mukuro's hair one more time before he gets up and walks out, closing the door quietly behind him.

For the next three hours, Mukuro lays there in a bed that is far too big for one person and smells far too good, and tries not to tremble.


End file.
